For over a decade, the Kremlin has backed an Iran-Syria alliance in the Middle East that puts it on the opposite side of Israel. Yet, for a variety of reasons, both Jerusalem and Moscow have kept up at least the illusion of good relations, coupled with Vladimir Putin’s efforts to show himself to be a friend of the Russian Jewish community. That arrangement has been gradually breaking down over the past many months, with leaders of Hamas visiting Moscow, Russian officials speaking openly of a “strategic partnership” with Iran, attacks on Volodymyr Zelensky in state-controlled media taking on an anti-Semitic tone, and Russian Jews feeling less secure than they have in a long time.

All this has gotten worse since October 7, as Daniel Rakov explains:

President Vladimir Putin has adopted the Palestinian narrative, explaining the current eruption of violence as a result of Israel’s “settlement policy” and its decades-long failure to provide a political solution to the Palestinian problem. Moreover, he claims, “an extraordinary sense of injustice in this regard nests in the heart of every Muslim.” Putin [has also] . . . refrained from referring to Hamas’s attack on Israeli civilians.

The seenior Hamas officials Mousa Abu Marzouk and Ali Baraka have both stated that they have been in contact with Moscow and that the Russians conveyed a sympathetic message to the organization following the attack on the Gaza border communities inside Israel. Russia has not denied this.

Much of Russian messaging in recent days is consistent with the characteristics of “modern anti-Semitism”—conflating Israel and the Jews [and] accusing them of every possible sin, including comparing them to Nazi Germany. These messages are, in addition to other indications of a return to Russian state anti-Semitism, similar to those that existed in the Soviet era.

If Iran succeeds in obtaining nuclear weapons, the war in Gaza, let alone the protests on college campuses, will seem like a minor complication. Jonathan Schachter fears that this danger could be much more imminent than decisionmakers in Jerusalem and Washington believe. In his view, Israel seems to be repeating the mistake that allowed it to be taken by surprise on Simchat Torah of 2023 and Yom Kippur of 1973: putting too much faith in an intelligence concept that could be wrong.

Israel and the United States apparently believe that despite Iran’s well-documented progress in developing capabilities necessary for producing and delivering nuclear weapons, as well as its extensive and ongoing record of violating its international nuclear obligations, there is no acute crisis because building a bomb would take time, would be observable, and could be stopped by force. Taken together, these assumptions and their moderating impact on Israeli and American policy form a new Iran concept reminiscent of its 1973 namesake and of the systemic failures that preceded the October 7 massacre.

Meanwhile, most of the restrictions put in place by the 2015 nuclear deal will expire by the end of next year, rendering the question of Iran’s adherence moot. And the forces that could be taking action aren’t:

The European Union regularly issues boilerplate press releases asserting its members’ “grave concern.” American decisionmakers and spokespeople have created the unmistakable impression that their reservations about the use of force are stronger than their commitment to use force to prevent an Iranian atomic bomb. At the same time, the U.S. refuses to enforce its own sanctions comprehensively: Iranian oil exports (especially to China) and foreign-currency reserves have ballooned since January 2021, when the Biden administration took office.

Israel’s response has also been sluggish and ambiguous. Despite its oft-stated policy of never allowing a nuclear Iran, Israel’s words and deeds have sent mixed messages to allies and adversaries—perhaps inadvertently reinforcing the prevailing sense in Washington and elsewhere that Iran’s nuclear efforts do not present an exigent crisis.